Mark Reviews Movies: WHAT THEY HAD

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Review by Mark Dujsik | November 1, 2018

Writer/director Elizabeth Chomko's debut film tells the story of a family coping with Alzheimer's. Only one member of the family may have that terrible disease, but What They Had recognizes that it affects everyone close to the ailing person.

More to the point, it affects people in completely different ways. Some may latch on to the person who was and who still may appear in brief flashes of lucidity. Others may be practical about matters, recognizing that the mind of the person they loved is gone. All that's left is to ensure that the person's body and what's left of the mind is cared for as well as possible. Still others might simply retreat—not because they've stopped loving the person, but because it is simply too painful to see a loved one in such a state.

Anyone who has dealt with Alzheimer's or knows someone who has had to confront it knows that all of these reactions are common. Sometimes, a person may go between them or, somehow, feel them at the same time. Then there's the strangely common refrain of twisted but necessary optimism: At least the person with the disease doesn't realize the anguish the disease is causing. That is followed by the inevitable guilt of thinking in such a way.

Chomko's screenplay gives us characters going through all of this, while also dealing with their own lives and troubles. That's another thing that stories about illness don't usually grasp or bother to portray—that a loved one's illness doesn't stop the world from moving. Life goes on, whether we want it to or not.

Here, for example, we're introduced to Bridget (Hilary Swank), known as "Biddy" to her family members. She's living in California with her husband Eddie (Josh Lucas), while their daughter Emma (Taissa Farmiga) is away and miserable at college. The marriage is crumbling, and Bridget feels as if she is alone in feeling that way, lying awake in bed while her husband carelessly snores the night away (We don't actually see him until the third act, just to assert how distant the two are from each other). She runs just to do something and feel some sense of accomplishment, and she has stopped wearing her wedding ring. If anyone notices, she simply says it gets in the way while she's at work.

She receives a phone call from her brother Nick (Michael Shannon) in a Chicago suburb. Their mother Ruth (Blythe Danner), who's in one of the later stages of Alzheimer's, has wandered off in the dark, early morning hours of Christmas Eve. Neither Nick nor their father Bert (Robert Forster), who has become his wife's only caretaker in the condo they share, has had any luck finding her. Bridget, who has power of attorney, flies home, with Emma in tow, to figure out what is to be done with her mother.

The conflicts here are simple and straightforward but also deep and painful. Nick, who's also having romantic problems with his long-term girlfriend, has been arguing that Ruth should be placed in a mental care facility for as long as his mother's condition has hindered her from living a normal life. Bert, who has had four heart attacks, refuses even to consider the idea, believing that he is enough to care for his own wife—"my girl," as he calls her in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Both men are stubborn in their ways and attitudes. Both men love Ruth and have cared for her in their own ways since she became sick. It doesn't help that there has been tension between the father and son well before Ruth became ill. Nick, who owns a local bar, believes he has disappointed his father, and Bert doesn't correct his son of that assumption. Either of them might be correct in their belief of how to care for Ruth, depending on whether one looks at this situation from an emotional or a pragmatic perspective. No matter what decision is made, it will lead to more problems and heartbreak.

Ultimately, Bridget is the final decision-maker. She's placed in the impossible position of disappointing her brother or devastating her father, and because she has been removed from her family for some time, she spends her time back at home quickly catching up with and being put in the middle of all of the arguments, the anger, the disappointment, and the resentment that has been building up in her absence—and because of it, too. All the while, Bridget has to deal with her own resentment—feeling forced to marry at a young age—and inflexibility—trying to convince Emma to stay in school—and guilt—realizing, too late perhaps, how far gone her mother has become.

This isn't simply some clichéd and/or generic "disease story." It cuts straight to the core of how this illness has affected and continues to affect the dynamics of the family, as well as the people within it. Chomko doesn't impose a set, rigid tone on the material, either. It's only as serious as the characters make it. The mood flows along with them, because there are times that humor is the only response when confronted with the horrible absurdity of such a situation. Nick's disturbed reaction to witnessing his mother flirting with him is a joke between the siblings, but it's also an eventual moment of clarity for Bert.

The film is filled with clear, strong, and vibrant performances. Swank is sympathetic as the audience's viewpoint and as a torn protagonist, while Danner avoids making Ruth frail or utterly helpless. Shannon excels as the family's "hothead," whose love for his mother and his frustration with his father are in constant battle, and Forster is great as a man who refuses to see the truth in front of him, if only because admitting it probably would be more painful than living in denial.

In the end, What They Had recognizes the most agonizing truth of Alzheimer's. No matter how tightly or long someone holds on to someone afflicted with the disease, there is no recovery, no cure, or no returning to life as it was. At a certain point, there is only letting go.

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